


what's love got to do with it

by Nappinginthegrave



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: !!!!not sure how much of dubcon is, Dubious Consent, Josto being unable to make up his mind, M/M, and i really wish i could give you these answers, handjobs and sex, hey why did you write this pairing and also 3k for xxx nobody asked for, i have no idea when they could take a murder break long enough to bang, internalized homophobia and use of the f slur, please don't ask me about timelines, you may ask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28422387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nappinginthegrave/pseuds/Nappinginthegrave
Summary: i'm sorry tina turner. i couldn't think of a titlecalamita sees a problem and goes through with a solution. josto has a good time. characterization is consistent with the show mostly maybe?
Relationships: Josto Fadda/Constant Calamita
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	what's love got to do with it

Pressure is meant to be released. Without that escape of potential energy, there’s only building of danger. This scales up from shaking a can of soda to building a bomb. A lack of attention to these details can end with a messy bang, intended or not.

“This is my town!” Josto highlights the second to last word with a sharp downward gesture of his index finger. “You know Pop would be spinning in his grave if he knew what was happening. No. I won’t have this. We have to send them a message. Hurt them where it counts.”

Calamita manages to not roll his eyes. It’s a practiced skill of restraint he’s honed over the years. “Eh, boss. Calm down.”

“No! I simply won’t have it.” Josto stamps down with his right leg.

Incensed didn’t cover the anger radiating off of Josto. His tie hung low and undone across his shirt. Pit stains were evident the second he removed his jacket. The damned fan was out in his office, but Josto refused to walk around town dressed like a schlub. At least not when he still had to prove himself capable to potential business prospects.

“They sell fireplaces. What would we even do with that, now?” Cold-natured as he is, Calamita rarely sweat. That doesn’t mean he didn’t appreciate the grating nature of this oppressive heat. He eyed the coat rack and the pocket where he kept his cigarettes. It’s a toss up whether Josto would become more or less intense after a smoke.

“That’s not-” Josto interrupts himself, wiping sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. “That’s not the point. It’s the principle. What even is a seasonal business?” He pointed at the window in the general direction of town. “I bet they’re lying. They’ve got some other thing going that they want to keep us out of.”

“It means they close during the summer. Two weeks that storefront is something new. Why don’t we try, again, then?” Calamita had become a lion tamer, but for a house cat with widely changing mood swings. To slowly coax someone into sanity was a draining process.

“Hm.” Josto closed off the conversation once he knew he wasn’t on the winning side of it. Just as well.

Calamita left him to stew in his office. He went to the back porch where there was a reasonable breeze and plenty of shade. The sun beat down around him, seemingly wanting to slip under the awning. The cheap fan he’d taken off the counter was sufficient for his needs. Even if his wrist was getting tired at this point.

It was ten minutes of peaceful silence before Josto opened the door. “Hey, Calamita. Can I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he replied flatly. A half smirk graced his lips, and he beckoned Josto out. “Go ahead, boss.”

He still twitched as if agitated. “I didn’t mean to be short with you before.” _He did_. “You know you’re my most trusted man.” _Calamita is not_. “And I- and I just wanted to ask your advice. About how you deal with, uh. Woman troubles? Or lack of woman troubles, more precisely.” He fidgets with his hands between his legs, looking out at the overgrown weeds and grass.

Ah. Revelation.

Calamita nods to the statement.

Josto wipes his sweaty palms down his pants. “And it’s not that I couldn’t if I wanted to. It’s- it’s that I’m just so busy all the time, and dames want the world from you.” He grows quieter. “And I’d like to get some without paying for a gal who’ll make my dick itch for the week after.”

“Just be yourself.” Calamita holds back a smile, but it still shows in his eyes. Some days his boss is tolerable. Minutes like this, are ecstasy. The plethora of mental contortions Josto hasn’t learned to hide from his expressions.

“What is that supposed to mean. I’m always-” It’s difficult to tell a flush when it’s so hot out. Josto’s lips press together in a thin line. “I could’ve gotten better advice off the back of a match box. Forget it.”

The screen door to the porch always closes slowly, but Calamita hears the hinges squeak at the force applied to them. Before the soft pat of wood against wood. He stretches his legs and considers the situation. He has been staying too busy with work. It could be time to let loose some energy.

\------------------------------

And so, the band plays on, repeating the same old songs.

“I’ve had it with the disrespect. This town oughta know that my name means something.”

“Josto.” Calamita rests his face against his palm, elbow sat atop his knee.

“And I know what you’re going to say. It doesn’t mean anything, but what if it means something to me? Huh? Have you considered that?”

He can almost hear the drip, drip, drip of his brain falling out of his ears. He stands up and glances to double-check the office door is locked. “I think I have a solution.”

Josto shoots out of his big chair, expectant.

Calamita rounds the desk, taking Josto’s shoulder in the manner of an adviser, a confidante. Then unlike an adviser or confidante, he’s wrapping his hand around Josto’s throat and pushing him into the wall hard enough to make the pictures clatter in their frames. “Just be quiet.”

Josto claws at Calamita’s hand for a second, but it’s mostly shock keeping him still. His dick is half-hard in his slacks, and he can’t even hide his excitement when Calamita grabs at him.

Short but certain motions over the fabric. “Boss, you’re pent up, and I can help.” He spits in his palm and shoves it under Josto’s waistband. “You won’t scream if I let you go?”

Josto’s face is pink and his eyes are wide. All the same he shakes his head emphatically. He takes big breaths once there aren’t fingers squeezing around his neck. “What is happening?” He says mostly for his own benefit. But then Calamita starts jerking him off and Josto has to bite at his shirt cuff to not squeak a moan. His hips are pumping just as fast into Calamita’s fist.

Calamita whispers darkly behind Josto’s ear. A litany of curses. Half Italian, half English. Most surrounding the words pathetic slut, and Josto eats up every last syllable.

Josto comes into his own briefs gripping Calamita’s shoulder. He muffles a whine into the older man’s chest. His brain hasn’t returned from his high before Calamita is reaching into Josto’s suit jacket to retrieve his handkerchief.

Calamita is pleased but not smiling as he wipes off his hand.

Josto’s panting, supported only by the wall behind him.

“You can’t warn a guy first?!”

“You would’ve said yes if I asked?” He dismisses with a wave of his hand. “Calm down. You feel better, now.”

Josto tucks his shirt back into his pants. “I’m your boss, yunno.” He huffs, mostly to himself and directed at his shoes.

“Sì, capo.”

\------------------------------------

Suddenly, the Faddas are not a warmongering people. Focused business-minded folks tend to succeed more than a dozen half-aborted ramblings in the privacy of an office. There’s little surprise that more accomplishments can be had without distraction. Calamita grows closer to this power. Every week, eventually every few days, Josto presses himself into Calamita. Eyes averted and heart racing. Shyly then with insistence then with a burning urgency for more. This itch refusing to be scratched.

The usual rub and tug has lost its luster. Even with his dick drained, there’s a satisfaction he still chases. Calamita is the one to disappear for several minutes before returning from the kitchen. “Olive oil?” Josto stands in only his socks and shirt, uncertain.

“How you think the Romans did it? Pomade?” Calamita sets down the bottle and gestures to the bed. “Now get on your back. I wanna try something different. You’ll like it.”

He’s hesitant but follows the order, nonetheless. Something screwy in his head makes his cock twitch whenever Calamita tells him what to do, how to touch himself, when to stop.

Calamita climbs onto the bed. He pushes Josto’s legs apart and places himself squarely in the newly freed real estate.

He’s never had a clear head before fooling around in their previous encounters, too anxious to get his jollies and slip away as fast as possible. It seems more real when they’re face-to-face. Josto’s not one for introspection on the matter, but the intimacy reflected in their closeness makes him nervous. Like this wasn’t a series of accidents but a definite pattern that says something about them. He remembers words spat and bodies broken for far less than what they’ve done together.

Panic is a funny thing expressed on the face. It rests at the edge of fear, waiting patiently to find reason to jump. Life has worn down Calamita’s normal responses, but he sees it all on Josto. Vibrant and sharp like a knife to the gut. Calamita resists the urge to kiss him for the moment.

Josto puffs himself up. “I’ll tell you one thing. I’m not a fucking queer.”

“Yes, boss. Just calm down. This’ll feel even better.” There’s a new level of excitement breaking across Calamita’s features. He ruts his erection into Josto’s thigh.

It’s the first time Josto is made to acknowledge that Calamita’s been aroused this whole time. The tent of fabric is less a set dressing and more a part of the living person who’s been getting him off for months without ever asking for reciprocation. Josto’s never liked to owe a debt.

Calamita undoes his pants and takes himself out. Josto looks down, somewhat pleased that he’s thicker even if Calamita’s about the same length. He smirks to himself before immediately wiping it away. Despite his nerves, he’s already sporting a chub before Calamita’s even laid a hand on him. Maybe he’s been changed too much. This could be the line in the sand he’s heard so much about. Hesitance makes his chest feel heavy, but before he can get a word out there’s a dick pressed on top of his own and a hand slowly jerking off both of them at once.

And olive oil is definitely better. Slicked up, Calamita hand doesn’t have the little tinge of pain that makes Josto’s belly warm, but it’s pure pleasure that makes him openly ache. Calamita had wet his hand quite liberally, and oil drips down on to Josto. Sticky and slippery at the same time, he can feel it travel down his scrotum and the crevice of his ass.

Calamita sets up an easy pace before pulling out of his hand to focus on Josto. It was almost expected by the other man. The lips at his throat were a surprise. Barely there and hard to focus on then Josto’s eyes shutter closed at teeth scraping him. Only hard enough to leave temporary pink lines that fade within the minute. He doesn’t even register Calamita’s free hand wandering lower. “Do you like this?”

“Yes,” Josto replies emphatically. That’s rewarded. Calamita stretched Josto’s legs wider apart, but it only meant he could get that much closer. Tease at his neck, moving down to nip at his collar with that much more vigor.

“Do you want more?”

“YES.”

Calamita circles his forefinger around Josto’s entrance a few times before slowly pushing it in. At this point Calamita has let go of his dick and pulled away just to experience the reaction. Josto tightens around him immediately in a way that draws out a pleased laugh.

Josto can’t understand himself. It’s good and bad and weird and foreign. He thought it would hurt more. The fact that it doesn’t makes him that same kind of nervous. While he’s trying to make sense of his mind, Calamita pushes a second finger in. This time quick, and a jolt of discomfort makes Josto breathless. He barely restrains himself from pushing himself further onto Calamita’s hand.

He hates the smile Calamita has. Josto pictures how he must look. “I’m no faggot,” Josto reaffirms.

“Really?” Calamita pushes his fingers in deeper and crooks them. Josto’s whole body tenses in a foreign pleasure surging through him. “I don’t think that matters.” Calamita kisses the corner of his mouth. Patient as can be until Josto shifts to deepen the kiss. Each whine slipping from his lips hitting the back of Calamita’s throat.

This is what he imagines slipping into madness feels like. He can feel himself pulsing in the empty air between their bellies. It feels like he’s been hard for hours, but that can’t be right. Calamita kisses like he’s trying push into his soul, and every time his hand rocks forward Josto makes a sound more befitting a dying animal than any person. It’s a few minutes before it all becomes too much to handle.

Josto grabbed Calamita’s wrist and pushes him away. “St-stop, stop. Hold on. Whatever move you’re doing to make my dick do the bunny hop, I want you to not do that. It’s weird. I don’t understand why that feels so good, and I don’t like that you do.” Josto pulls his knees up to cover himself.

“You want to stop?” He repeats Josto back, slow and deliberate with his elocution. There’s a mark of genuine surprise on Calamita. Disappointment crinkles around his eyes before he stops it. “All right. Okay.” He sits back and draws himself to the edge of the bed. A slight sigh as he looks down at his erection, laying hard as a pipe against his thigh. He’s never had to deal with this part before. He needs time to collect himself.

This is the last stop at the station and the train pulling out. This is Josto condemning himself to loneliness all over again with little solution. This is losing his friend, confidante, and loyal right-hand man. The final terror in his heart, this is how he’s outed. He wonders how many of his concerns are echoed through the other man. “Calamita, wait.”

He turns around slightly, only looking through the corner of his eye.

“I wanna keep going.” He starts out with a smaller voice before changing. The bravado slips over him natural as breathing. “Don’t be a pussy. Come over here and fuck me.”

A tiredness stays with him, sticks to his old bones as he drags himself closer to Josto. “Are you sure?” Calamita finds his own reservations. He can’t remember the last time he’s been this intimate with a man. Maybe not since he was in the army.

Josto rolls onto his stomach. He gets on hand and knee to present himself clearly. “Am I speaking Greek or what?” He is relieved when Calamita gets behind him. Being stretched by his cock burns more than just fingers, and Josto’s glad he’s faced away. An audible hiss escapes him, and Calamita stops.

“Shit, you gotta relax, boss.” He pulls out and recoats his fingers in olive oil, but as soon as he touches Josto, Josto jerks out of the way.

“No, no, no, no. Not any more of that.” Josto’s stomach did somersaults remembering what Calamita could do to him. Sex he understood, having it with a guy can’t be that different. Hopefully, not as many secret buttons that made stars shine behind his eyes. Once he got to familiar territory, then everything would be fine. “I just want you to fuck me. Just do it, like a man.” The gilded exterior is flaking away, but damned if Josto doesn’t try.

Calamita didn’t argue. Instead, he wiped the olive oil onto his erection and did as ordered. “Just be calm.” He coaxes Josto’s legs apart. He lets the touch linger, petting Josto’s inner thigh for a time. Calamita moves back and holds onto Josto’s hip to stay straight while he pushes forward. “You feel good, really good.” The last part said under his breath, surprised maybe suspicious.

It’s better this time but still hurts a little. He doesn’t want to be nervous. An outer layer of confidence can usually get him out of any problem, but apparently not this one. In a bold move, he quickly pushes back onto Calamita until he’s fully seated. He blocks out whatever is being said to him. This thing he’s done to himself is immediately worse and a mistake. Still, Josto finds himself unable to do anything else but move back and forth on Calamita. His cock’s already made up its mind and has started leaking onto the sheets, but Josto can’t decide whether he feels more pleasure or pain. The longer he goes the better it seems to get.

“HEY, that’s too fast.” “I know it’s hurting you, I can feel you.” “Boss, if you don’t relax, I’m not gonna last.” “Listen to me.” “Josto, stop.” Calamita clamps his hands down on Josto and locks them together. “You can’t do that. Fuck.” It is maddening that he had to stop Josto from hurting himself when he’s a minute away from finishing, but he knows it has to be done. “Are you sure you don’t want to slow down?” It’s a question in the form of a command.

Josto deflates. The permission makes things much easier. “I’m sorry.” Something Josto rarely ever says. “I want it to be good.” He separates from Calamita to lie on his back.

“You don’t have to force it.” Calamita shakes his head and bows down to meet the younger man. He presses a short kiss to Josto’s chest. He pushes up Josto’s thighs before laying a trail of kisses on each one. “Hold on. Trust me, it’ll be good.” A few seconds later and Josto’s lower half is propped up by a folded pillow. Calamita enters him gingerly, keeping an eye on his expressions. Once he’s fully in he leans in so close he’s nearly enveloping Josto. “Stay relaxed, just like this.”

Josto keeps quiet. He presses his nose to Calamita’s jawline before moving, so they’re cheek-to-cheek. It’s comfortable yet humbling to be so vulnerable with another person. A bark of laughter surprises Josto as it comes from his own lips. He’s almost embarrassed as he looks to Calamita.

Calamita doesn’t laugh but does smile. “It’s good, huh?” He kisses Josto with a slow purpose. A kiss that promises that it’s one of many more in the future. There’s a moment where Josto settles just so, and that triggers Calamita to move. A leisurely roll of his hips that increases as the minutes pass. They were both so set to go, it doesn’t take long.

Josto had taken to bucking into Calamita as best as he could. He grabs himself and jerks off as he feels his climax getting near. Without meaning to, he shoots onto Calamita’s shirt. Josto curses under his breath, but secretly he loves the way it looks. Were Calamita not so out of it, he’d complain. Josto maintains his high as Calamita fucks him through it. More desperate and rough than before as he seeks a release. Josto finds himself both at ease and disappointed when Calamita takes his last few thrusts.

He’s slow to pull out. “It’s been a long time.” The wind is knocked out of him.

Josto is laughing, again. He pulls Calamita down and kisses him. “You okay, old man?” He teases.

“Fuck off.” Calamita joins in with laughter as he rolls off Josto and collapses on the bed. As they are side-by-side, Calamita puts his hand beside Josto’s. Not to hold, but merely for them to touch. Warm and present. They stay with this casual touch until their hearts settle back into their rib cages.

Josto gets up to wet a towel in the water basin and clean himself off. He throws it onto the splotches on Calamita’s chest. “I’m sorry about the shirt.”

Calamita’s half asleep. “S’aright,” his words fumbling together. He only peeks one eye open when he feels Josto touching him, putting him back into his pants and zipping him up. “What you doing?”

“I have to make some calls.” Josto gets his pants and underwear from the ground. He dresses quickly before walking to the bed. “Thank you.” By the time he said it he wasn’t sure if Calamita was conscious enough to hear it. Behind his lips are words that mean things more than gratitude, but Josto’s not quite ready to say them aloud. Even if he can’t understand all of his feelings, he’s certain he can point out happiness. And he knew keeping Calamita close to him was a major factor in it.


End file.
